Runaway Sister Page 6

  She sighed, wishing that he hadn’t kissed her, because then she wouldn’t be wanting him to kiss her again. She didn’t want to face the possibility that it was an impulsive one-off occurrence. Common sense told her that it was, but her heart was hoping for more.

  The next few days continued uneventfully in the Maternity Unit, babies safely delivered one after the other, and she saw nothing of Adam Shaw. Usually they had some slack spells, but lately, thought Samantha when she was very tired one afternoon, there hadn’t been a slack moment. The Unit was bursting at the seams, and it was just as well that they had no complicated problems to deal with, as that would certainly have caused problems.

  It was at least a fortnight before Samantha and Jennie got time off together and were able to go to the canteen and have lunch and a chat.

  They made their way down the long corridor leading to the stairs up to the canteen. “My God,” remarked Jennie, “talk about a production line! The way the Mat Unit has been working these last couple of weeks, I reckon we ought to put in for bonus payments!”

  Samantha laughed. “Somehow I don’t think that would go down too well with the Nursing Officer. Humor isn’t one of her stronger points, and I think she would probably take you seriously if you suggested it.”

  “Then perhaps I ought to suggest it,” said Jennie mischievously. “You never know, she might even arrange payment.”

  “And pigs might fly,” retorted Samantha.

  On reaching the canteen they were disappointed to find that as they were late everything was off except SPAM fritters.

  Samantha groaned. “I don’t think I can face SPAM fritters,” she said.

  “Rubbish,” replied Jennie firmly, “you’ve got to eat something. I meant to say to you earlier that you’re looking positively peaky. You need something solid and nourishing inside you.”

  “Yes, but not SPAM fritters,” protested Samantha.

  “As there’s nothing else,” pointed out Jennie, ever practical, “it will just have to be SPAM fritters.”

  Reluctantly Samantha followed her friend to the counter and duly collected her fritters, baked beans and chips. As she paid for it she thought to herself that she must be mad buying such rubbish; she knew she wasn’t going to be able to eat it anyway.

  She and Jennie easily found a table by one of the big windows as the canteen was beginning to empty. The one good thing about the Princess Mary’s canteen was that it was situated on the far side of the hospital, and had beautiful views out across the countryside.

  “There,” said Jennie, tucking into her lunch enthusiastically, “with a view like this you can imagine you’re in a swell restaurant.”

  “Until you look down at the SPAM fritters,” interjected Samantha ruefully.

  “Your trouble is you’re too fussy,” said Jennie. “They’re not at all bad.”

  Samantha toyed with the food on her plate and at Jennie’s insistence she did eat some of it, but it tasted fatty and sickly to her and she left most of it.

  Jennie chattered on, filling her in on all the latest news on which, as always, she was well informed. Of course, eventually she got on to the subject of Adam Shaw, which in her heart of hearts was precisely what Samantha was hoping she would do. Half of her wanted to hear about him, the other half, the sensible half, was telling her that she ought to be very pleased she hadn’t seen him lately, and to forget all about him.

  “I must say,” said Jennie confidentially, “that personally I’m a bit surprised at Adam Shaw flaunting his affair with that woman so blatantly.”

  Samantha raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was news to her, but then she had been feeling so tired lately that she had been staying in and going to bed early most nights.

  “I always thought Adam Shaw was the discreet kind of man, but apparently not. He’s been seen everywhere with her, at all the best restaurants, she always answers the phone when the junior doctors ring him at home, and he always rushes off back to that flat he’s renting to be with her, just as soon as he’s finished his work here.” Jennie leaned back, folded her arms and nodded her head sagely. “I think he must be mad about her—everybody’s talking about it.”

  “Well, not quite everybody,” corrected Samantha. “I’m not, for one, because this is the first I’ve heard about it.”

  “That’s because you’ve been such a recluse lately,” accused Jennie. “You ought to join in things more.”

  “I haven’t been feeling a hundred percent,” said Samantha. “I thought a few early nights would buck me up.”

  “A few late nights, out with some boyfriends might,” said Jennie tartly, “not going to bed early on your own.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” agreed Samantha. “I’ll do something about it, I promise. Although for some strange reason I really have been feeling whacked lately.”

  The slight respite they had had on the Maternity Unit that lunchtime didn’t last long, and the afternoon was as busy as ever. Samantha stayed on with a difficult delivery, even though she was feeling tired and it was past her off-duty time. When she eventually got back to her flat she was absolutely exhausted.

  She also felt thoroughly miserable. All during the afternoon Jennie’s words had flitted back and forth through her brain, interrupting her concentration with monotonous regularity. Now she had reached the flat and there were no patients to distract her, the import of the words struck home. Jennie had said, I think he must be mad about her. Why should that worry her? Hadn’t she known all along that he had just been kind to her when he had taken her out for a meal—but if only, if only he hadn’t kissed her!

  She felt even more tired that night, too tired to be bothered to cook anything, and anyway she had cramp in her stomach. If the pain wasn’t so low down I’d think it was a broken heart, she thought ruefully, glad that at least her sense of humor hadn’t deserted her.

  Oh, to hell with you, Adam Shaw, she thought irritably, pouring herself a generous measure of Scotch, you can keep your black-eyed mistress! A few sips of whisky mellowed her thoughts a little more. Yes, she thought slowly, I think they’re a pair well matched; they’re both strikingly handsome, they have a certain charisma and neither, I would imagine, are lasting or reliable lovers.

  Yes, that’s what I want, she thought, pouring herself another Scotch, a lasting and reliable lover. None of this all-conquering passion Adam Shaw nearly had me believing in, that’s all rubbish.

  However, that didn’t prevent her from thinking longingly of him that night before she went to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, his dark rugged face floated in front of her, a sensual, mocking glint in his slate-grey eyes.

  When Samantha went on to the Unit the following morning she took over a patient in the first stage of labor from a relatively inexperienced night midwife.

  “Everything going to schedule?” enquired Samantha as she took over, introduced herself to the patient and started to flick through the notes on the bottom of the bed.

  “Yes, everything is fine, isn’t it, Mrs. Collins?” said the young midwife. “You don’t mind if I dash now, Sister? I want to get up to London for the day today,” and with that she was gone.

  Samantha smiled warmly at Mrs. Collins, who smiled weakly back. Warning bells rang in Samantha’s head; she felt instinctively that something was not right. Looking at the charts, she saw that Mrs. Collins’s urinary output was very low and that her blood pressure had risen slightly during the night.

  “Take Mrs. Collins’s blood pressure, will you, Nurse,” she asked the student midwife with her, “and I think we’ll take a urine sample as well.” She turned to Mrs. Collins. “How are you feeling, dear?” she asked gently. “Any headaches or anything?”

  “Funny you should mention that,” said Mrs. Collins, “but I do have this most awful headache here.” She put her hands either side of her head on her temples.

  Saman
tha put her hand gently on Mrs. Collins’s brow. “Don’t worry about it,” she reassured her. “I think we’ll get the doctor to look at you and try to make you feel a little more comfortable.”

  The student midwife had finished taking the blood pressure and urine sample. The blood pressure was ominously up and the urine showed increased proteinuria.

  Samantha was just about to tell the junior to go and get an obstetrician quickly when her worst fears were realized. Mrs. Collins started to fit, and the student, who had never seen a case of eclampsia before, stood in the middle of the room, petrified. Samantha flew into action automatically, pressing the emergency button on the side of the bed as she fought to stop the fitting patient falling from the bed to the floor.

  “Help me!” she shouted at the student, the urgency in her voice galvanizing the girl into action. Samantha’s most urgent thought was to prevent the patient biting her tongue, thus blocking her airway and starving herself and her baby of oxygen.

  The door burst open and the emergency team hurried in, headed by Adam Shaw.

  “Eclampsia,” said Samantha briefly.

  “I can see that,” said Adam Shaw grimly. “A full-blown case, by the look of it.”

  He didn’t bother to ask questions, just issued orders which Samantha and the rest of the emergency team carried out without question. When Mrs. Collins had stopped fitting he sedated her, sent most of the emergency team away, and drew Samantha to one side of the room.

  “We’ll go into the whys and wherefores in a moment,” his voice was low with worry, “but what I want to know right now is, did she at any time prior to my arrival in the room become cyanosed?”

  “No, thank God,” replied Samantha. “I managed to keep her airway free, and she maintained a good healthy color, that’s something to be thankful for.”

  “Now we’ll get to the whys and wherefores,” he said grimly.

  She handed him the notes. “I took over from the night midwife at eight thirty this morning, and immediately felt unhappy. She complained of a headache, so we took her blood pressure and tested her urine, as you can see from the notes.” She pointed to where the student had entered in the results. “I was actually on the point of sending the student to get an obstetrician because I recognized the signs, when she had her first fit. Thank goodness the student was here to help me control her—I don’t think I could have managed her on my own.”

  “It’s a great pity you weren’t with this lady last night,” said Adam, flicking back through the previous night’s records. “I don’t think she would have got into this mess if you’d been here.”

  “I would have picked it up sooner,” agreed Samantha, “but the night midwife is new and not very experienced.”

  “That’s no excuse,” he growled. “Cases like this shouldn’t occur in modern hospitals.”

  “But they do,” said Samantha, “but only very rarely, that’s probably why she missed it.”

  “You didn’t miss it,” he said, turning to her.

  “No, but then I’ve been a midwife for much longer than she has.”

  “And how many cases of a full-blown eclampsia have you seen?” he demanded.

  “Well, only one other,” admitted Samantha, “but I’ve seen other cases where the warning signs have been present and we’ve been able to prevent it.”

  “Exactly,” said Adam, punching one clenched fist into the palm of his other hand. “Every midwife should be able to recognize the signs and send for help in time.”

  He turned back to where Mrs. Collins was now lying quietly. “I’ll bleep the anesthetist and we’ll take her through to Theatre and induce her surgically. I don’t think we can afford to hang about on this one.”

  The anesthetist arrived within a few minutes and conferred with Adam, then the porters arrived to take the patient to Theatre.

  “Do you want to come and help finish off the job?” Adam asked Samantha.

  “Yes, I would. It will set my mind at rest to see mother and baby come safely through this,” she agreed.

  “We haven’t got over all the hurdles yet, by any manner of means,” was his grim reply.

  There were moments during the next hour and a half when Samantha almost wished she hadn’t gone to Theatre with them. It was a hair-raising delivery, full of trauma, but eventually the skill and teamwork of the anesthetist and the obstetrician paid off. A healthy baby boy was safely delivered, to a living and, all things considered, a relatively healthy mother.

  Adam had already rung Intensive Care, who agreed to take Mrs. Collins after she had delivered. The baby would go for the time being to the Special Care Baby Unit, or Scaboo as everyone in the hospital called it.

  The porters came to move Mrs. Collins over to the main part of the hospital where the Intensive Care Unit was situated, and Adam and the anesthetist walked with them, the anesthetist steadying the drip as they went along. Samantha stood leaning against the wide Theatre doors, watching their retreating figures. It had been a terrible morning in some ways, she thought, and yet between them they had managed to save mother and baby. Her admiration for Adam Shaw had grown by the minute as she had watched his skillful management of a potentially disastrous and tragic situation.

  She sighed deeply. It was only midmorning, but all the trauma of the last few hours had completely knocked her out. I must be getting old, she thought, to feel as tired as this, and to cap it all she had that awful nauseated feeling again, in fact it was much worse this time. She felt her head begin to swim and the corridor suddenly seemed to sway and loop the loop in front of her eyes. The next moment she was doubled up in agony; the pain in her abdomen was unbearable, like knives being twisted around violently inside her.

  One of the other nurses came out of Theatre and came running up to her in alarm.

  “What’s the matter with you? You look simply awful!” she said, holding on to Samantha.

  The pain began to subside a little. “I’m all right,” said Samantha, slowly straightening herself, “but I think I must have some stomach bug.” By now she was feeling hot and cold at the same time and her brow was covered with beads of perspiration.

  “I’m going back to my flat to lie down,” she said. “Could you apologize to Miss MacKenzie the Nursing Officer for me, and tell her I’ll be off for the rest of this afternoon. I should be OK tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?” asked the other girl doubtfully. “Don’t you think perhaps you ought to see a doctor?”

  “No, I shall be all right, if I can just lie down,” replied Samantha stubbornly. All she wanted to do at that moment was get away on her own and lie down quietly.

  So rather reluctantly the other girl let her go; she didn’t know Samantha very well and felt she couldn’t interfere too much.

  Once she reached her flat Samantha lay down for a few moments, then she began to feel really sick, not just nauseated. A few moments later she was sick, and the terrible pains returned. This time they didn’t go away and she couldn’t even manage to walk to the bedroom, but collapsed in her tiny hall, between the bathroom and the bedroom, writhing in agony on the floor.

  She knew that somehow she had to see a doctor, and that it wasn’t just some stomach bug, but the pain was so great that she just couldn’t move. Luckily the telephone was in the hall, and crawling over towards it between spasms of severe pain, she managed to pull on the cord and pull the whole telephone down onto the floor. Feebly she dialed Jennie’s extension, praying that she would be in.

  “Hello.” Through a haze of pain she heard Jennie’s voice.

  “Jennie,” Samantha whispered weakly, “it’s me—Samantha. I’m ill, please help me.”

  That was the last thing she remembered, because she passed out at that point. It was only later when she had come round from the anesthetic to find herself in a side ward off the main general surgical ward that she found out she had just had an e
mergency appendectomy and had been found to have peritonitis. Even then things remained very hazy for several days. She was vaguely aware of Jennie’s anxious face appearing from time to time, but mostly her memories of that period were a jumbled confused mass, and she was uncertain as to which were real memories and which were figments of her imagination.

  Much later, when she had recovered sufficiently to hold a lucid conversation, Jennie told her that when she and John had reached Samantha’s flat of course it was locked, so they had broken the door down, and found her unconscious on the floor.

  “Oh dear,” sighed Samantha, “I shouldn’t think the Residence Manager was very pleased about that—you know what an old misery he is.”

  “As a matter of fact, he was very concerned about you,” said Jennie. “I think he has quite a soft spot for you. And talking of soft spots, he’s not the only one!”

  “What on earth do you mean?” asked Samantha, looking puzzled.

  “I mean Adam Shaw,” said Jennie. “Not a single day has passed when he hasn’t been in to see you, and he’s always been making suggestions regarding your treatment to the consultant surgeon and his firm. I can tell you he’s been driving them mad!”

  Samantha smiled. “That was nice of him, but I can assure you he’s not interested in me. Don’t forget that woman he’s living with.”

  “Yes,” agreed Jennie, “I’d forgotten about her because he seemed to be so anxious about you. Unfortunately she’s still around—I saw her only the other day when I was in town. Honestly, she’s the sort of woman who makes you want to spit! It was pouring with rain and I looked and felt thoroughly bedraggled, but there she was under an umbrella, managing to look as gorgeous as ever.”